One Job
by Rightor
Summary: Dean's number one priority has always been to keep his kid brother, Sammy, safe. His father made sure to drill that into his brain ever since he was four, "Keep your brother safe", "Protect him with your life", "He'd better be the way he is now when I get back". What happens though when Dean, who doesn't realize something's wrong until it's a bit too late, screws up his one job?


**A/N: Quick drabble. Purely out of boredom. Got the idea at 2AM and decided to actually do something with it. Hope you enjoy, feedback is always a bonus, and please excuse any errors as this was written while I was half-asleep and running on a tiny bit of caffeine! :)**

"If you tell Dad I took you here, I'll kick your ass." Dean grumbled, taking a small bite of his chicken soup.

Sammy beamed, shoveling mounds of eggs into his face as he grabbed his buttery toast in his free hand. Dean smiled a bit, turning his attention back to his food and bringing the spoon back to his lips.

"How're you paying for all of this?" The eight year old questioned, looking at the small diner.

The joint Dean got them into was a smaller, forgotten restaurant that was basically made of a bunch of old pieces of wood stacked together and some nails. Despite the crappy exterior and interior, the place looked like Heaven to the Winchester boys as they never got out of the crappy hotel-rooms. And even though Dean's soup tasted like dishwater and Sam was positive his "butter" wasn't butter, it still tasted a helluva lot better than the "food" Dad brought home in small packs that were a dollar seventy-five each.

A portly woman who had to be a few decades older than the brothers' father seemed to be running the majority of things around the place. The only other person, besides a couple sitting at the bar and an elderly man alone in one of the booths, was a man in the back cooking up the food. The chubby sixty-or-so woman had given Dean a warm smile as he entered the bar and waited two or so minutes before asking the boys after walking up to the table they took what they'd like to eat.

The older brother was more than fed up with his younger brother's constant complaining about the food that their father had stashed up in the hotel-room, saying it hurt his stomach and he was usually still hungry afterwards. Dean, on multiple occasions, gave up his breakfast and or dinner so that Sam could go to bed satisfied and not as hungry as he would be with one serving. Considering their father had been on this hunt a few more days than usual, the older brother decided scraping up a few dollars and bringing Sammy over to the joint down the street wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Praying the prices were low, seeing as he only had six or so dollars, Dean opened the door for his brother, Sam instantly getting excited. It was rare that they actually had food made for them, let alone by "professionals", so this was definitely what the boys'd consider a treat. And besides, Dean didn't mind sneaking out every now and then to see his little brother's face light up the way it did when they walked in.

The woman flounced over to them smiling brightly and clicking her pen against her small note pad. Her outfit was painted with grease and stains and her gray hair frizzed out in all sorts of places, her red lipstick smeared around her mouth and her dark, drawn on eyebrows contradicting her light hair. "What can I get'ya two boys?"

"A small bowl of soup please," Dean smiled, handing her the menu, "chicken noodle."

She scribbled down what looked like a squiggly line which Dean couldn't read before she turned her attention to Sammy, "And for ya, pumpkin?"

Sam grinned brightly, his loose and missing teeth-ed smile making the woman chuckle lightly, and dusted his long bangs from his eyes, "Kids scrambled eggs with'a side of toast, please."

Joy, the waitress, took the two menus with another warm curve of her lips, and walked away. She returned shortly after with two drinks of water and some straws. "Here you two gents are." She said, her voice sounding like honey as she placed the straws on the table, "Where's ya parents?" She asked while cleaning up a few wrappers and napkins from the Winchester's table.

"Down the street. He was tired and told us to come here for breakfast." Dean lied, his innocent face completely washing any doubt she could've ever had from her mind.

"Well you two boys holler if ya's need any help, alright?"

The two nodded, almost in unison, and she gave another nod before heading off to the old man a few booths in back of them.

Dean, who now was halfway done with his soup, glanced up from his bowl to his brother. Sammy had eaten his entire omelet and was chowing on the toast so quickly, Dean was afraid Sam thought it'd run off. "I got it covered, don't worry about it."

Sam gave his older brother a skeptical look but Dean raised his hands innocently, "I swear."

If it wasn't for the goofy grin on Dean's face, Sam may've not believe him, but that damn grin got the best of the brother as he smiled back and continued to chow.

Joy came back a couple minutes later, scooping up all the plates, and giving Dean the check. The food all together costed about eight seventy-five, tax included, and Dean let out a quick scowl. He forsure thought that if he had ordered the cheapest item on the menu, the soup, he'd have enough money to pay.

Swallowing up his nerves, he placed the only cash he had on the check and fished his hand into his pockets for change. Sammy, who was quickly getting bored, began to count the money before his eyes snapped to Dean, "De, this says eight seventy-five and you only have seven ninety-two."

"I know." He muttered, growling as his hands came up empty. Without thinking he glanced to Sam, "Head back to the hotel. Keep your head down and walk quickly, alright? I'll be there in a few minutes."

Seeing as the hotel was right down the street, Sam shrugged and nodded. Dad'd kill Dean for letting Sam walk towards the room alone, but Dean had a situation to solve and Sam was getting bored, so he didn't think much of it. The little boy rolled off of his seat and trudged to the door, waving towards Joy who gave him her signature smile and left. It took the older Winchester a few minutes to come up with the remaining change he owed, fortunately finding some in the crevices of the booth, in his front pockets, and underneath the table, and stood right as Joy waddled over to collect her money.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we didn't have enough money to tip you." Dean apologized sheepishly, his head bowed. He truly had expected some money to be left over, and she had been awful sweet so he wanted to give her money for her kindness, but unfortunately money was something his family lacked.

"Oh, don'cha worry bout' a thing, honey. You run along now after your brother."

He looked up to see her wrinkled face shining nothing but happiness as she grabbed her cloth and began washing down the table. Hoping she truly meant what she said, Dean hurried out the door and headed towards the hotel.

Sighing, he slumped against the door as it rolled shut. Their father should be home soon and Dean had decided before the two went off to breakfast it'd probably be better to avoid the shower argument and get it over with before he showed. The shower argument usually occurred right before the family left, hopping back onto the road for their next hunt. Unlike Dean, Sam hadn't figured out yet that it was sometimes easier to avoid the fight and to just agree with their father and follow his orders. Sam wasn't one for showers. He absolutely hated them. He hated how his hair would get wet and then it'd stick to his face like glue, blurring his vision and limiting his sight. He hated how the water was normally cold and he hated how the bar of soap that was usually given at hotels like this felt like sand-paper against his skin.

The idea you got out of this was that Sam disliked showers. So much to the point, he'd avoid them for days at a time and would only go in for a good five minutes after his father'd give him an ultimatum. Regardless, Dean seriously didn't feel like being the barrier between his shouting father and argumentative baby brother today, so instead asked Sam to hop into the shower, get his hair wet, and change back into clothes. That way his father'd assume he took a shower and that way Sam didn't actually have to shower. It seemed like a win-win situation.

The only thing that striked Dean odd was how when Sam did come out, it wasn't five minutes later like it usually was and it wasn't a sopping Sammy. It was a clean Sammy. As in, he had physically cleaned himself and his hair and was actually clean. Choosing to ignore it, Dean gave Sam a nod of appreciation and continued to look over some evidence his father had told him to study for their next case. Dean guessed it to be a wraith considering the brains on all the vics seemed mummified and there was always, if found, a small incision around the ear of the victim's body that hollowed out a small tunnel to the brain.

Everything was going fine until he felt a small body next to his and his gaze shifted from the paper to his brother who was staring at him with a blanked expression. "I love you, Dean." He hugged his arms tight around his big brother, and buried his head in his neck as Dean froze for a second. Resisting the urge to ask Sam if he was alright, Dean wrapped his own arms around his brother and nodded, humming in response. The little boy pushed him away, his face showing no emotion as he spoke, "Don't you love me too, Dean?"

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, questioning whether or not he actually hummed because clearly Sam didn't hear it, and nodded. Maybe it was just too quiet or maybe Sam just didn't get the message. Either way, he was now positive his brother saw the head shake and new that he loved him. But then again, why the hell was Sam even hugging him in the first place? Hugging and sentimental moments of any sort weren't Dean's specialty in any meaning of the word and or words. He didn't do I love you's and he didn't plead and beg and cry and sit down to hear you talk about your life problems. That was Sam's field but even now, Sam didn't just hug people. Especially Dean, unless he was sobbing hysterically or scared to the core.

It was weird. That's what it came down to. It was really freaking weird. Sam doesn't act this clingy and Sam doesn't randomly pop up I love you's like an insecure girlfriend does around her boyfriend to insure their relationship. Sam doesn't just hug people out of the blue and he especially doesn't make the other person repeat his words back to him as if he was making sure it was a fact. And what weirded Dean even more was that he had to ply Sam's arms off of him. Like, physically ply.

Dad still wasn't home by nightfall and Dean, who knew he should be concerned, couldn't care less. His attention was placed on Sam who was asking him to play with him constantly and ultimately being an attention-whore. Dean had received more hugs in the last hour than he had in his entire life combined and it was not only beginning to freak the young boy out, but also emotionally drain him. By nine o'clock, he was ready to pass out. Sam fortunately had calmed down, maybe a few minutes before Dean fell asleep, but he had calmed down. And that was all Dean needed before he was out like a light, darkness seeping into every ounce of consciousness and knocking him out cold.

He woke up with an intense pain on the back of his neck. Sammy was curled up next to him, which was still abnormal unless he had a nightmare in which he'd wake Dean up and ask (even though he always knew the answer'd be yes) if he could sleep there, and was sleeping soundly. He tried his best not to wake up the small body besides his own and carefully tucked himself out of bed and towards the bathroom. The only lights in the hotel that illuminated against the dark rows of wood were the moonlight and that flickering lamp post outside, and maybe a car's headlights every now and then. He grumbled to himself as he popped the light-switch, turning the lights on, and turned his head to the side in an attempt to get a look at his neck.

It felt blistering hot and was pulsing with pain which only irritated whatever the hell was on Dean's neck even more. It felt like a large, fist-sized mosquito bite that had been scratched so much it hurt. Except there wasn't any bump on his neck, but instead the holes of what felt like a row of teeth. His hand jolted from the back of his neck to the front of his face where he examined his fingers which were dripping of blood. Beginning to get concerned, he turned his head to run into the hotel room and make sure no evil monster thing was eating Sammy, but was stopped when the little boy's figure blocked the small hallway that connected the hotel-room from the bathroom.

"Sammy." Dean inhaled quickly, surprised by the sudden appearance of his brother.

"I want to play." He mumbled, his shaggy hair sweeping across his forehead in odd directions.

"In the morning," The older brother replied, giving his younger one a skeptical look before he glanced around the room. Everything seemed intact, no smell of sulfur, and as far as he could see and sense, there weren't any hex-bags. No ghosts tampered with the lights and he was soon checking things off his list as to what could've made the small dents that felt like teeth punctures in the back of his neck. Quickly dismissing it, he turned to Sam and pointed to Sam's bed. "Go back to bed, Sammy."

"But I'm hungry too." He said, no emotion laced with the comment. It was as if he was robotic, monotone. It creeped Dean the hell out.

"Okay... okay. I'll just- give me a minute." Dean closed the door rather quickly, slamming it on Sammy's face. He didn't feel any guilt for it though, but a wave of relief. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. At first, he just assumed his stomach wasn't agreeing with the omelet and was screwing with his brain. He then blamed it on something that they put in the omelet that the brothers weren't aware of that was disagreeing with Sam's stomach. But now? Thirteen or so hours later? No. Something was wrong.

There was a small knock at the door followed by a small voice, "Dean, I'm hungry."

There was a pause and then a brief moment of silence, except for Dean's quick breaths as he began to realize what stood outside his door wasn't his brother.

"Dean, I'm hungry." He repeated, the knock sounding a bit harder.

The older brother's hand traveled to the back of his neck where he felt a circular row of dents in his neck, each causing a sting of pain as his fingers traced over it.

The knocks soon became urgent and then became pounds which then evolved into urgent pounds until Sam- or whatever the hell it was- was pounding against the door screaming that he was hungry. Dean covered his ears searching for anything that would help him in this situation. He didn't know what was outside his door, but it was something. Something else. Something that wasn't Sammy. A ping of fear flashed through him as he realized it wasn't Sammy. Which meant his baby brother could be anywhere and Dean wasn't there with him, to help and protect him.

He searched the bathroom for anything, searching through everything. He finally agreed with himself he'd just have to use Dad's electric toothbrush and opened the door, almost to get knocked in the chest with one of the creature's fists. It blinked and looked at him, looking angry and ruffled before it calmed and gazed at him, "Dean, I'm really hungry."

Dean pointed his electric toothbrush-weapon thing at the Sam-wannabe and growled, "Where's my brother?"

Sam looked at Dean once more, his face expressionless. Dean moved quietly, swiftly but so subtly the creature didn't notice, towards his bed. He then, without wasting any time, switched his weapons with his own colt M1911A1 from underneath his pillow and pointing it towards Sam- or that thing. It didn't flinch, but Dean didn't care. For all he knew, a bullet to the head could kill this bastard. But then again, he didn't know. He didn't even know what the hell this thing was. All he knew was that the only weapon he had against it was his personal gun that had his own carvings in the side of it and that Sam wasn't Sam and that the real Sammy could be hurt or being fed on or... worse.

The two stood like that for an awful long time, Dean barking orders at it in which it didn't respond. It stood there for about an hour, Dean's blood pressure rising and his feet beginning to grow tired before a boost of energy surged through him when a loud slam echoed in the dark hotel-room. Dad stepped inside, mumbling curse-words under his breath before he saw the scene in front of him. Almost immediately, he was next to Dean, growling, "Dean?! What the hell?! Drop your gun, boy!"

"No." Dean snapped, "That's not Sam."

"What's gott'en into your head, Dean?!" He snarled, "Drop your gun before you hurt the kid!"

"Dammit, Dad!" His eldest barked, "That's. Not. Sam! Look at my neck! I-I don't know what it is but I-I don't know where Sam is and this-this thing took him! Tried to replace him!"

Dad scoffed with amusement under his breath before he stepped back and tilted Dean's head down to show a huge circle of punctures in the back of his neck. Dad froze behind him and Dean could feel his hand stiffen on his shoulders. He then shuffled to the side of Dean and glared at the creature. "Changeling."

"Change-a-what?" Dean questioned his gaze rested on the creature that was beginning to look annoyed and tired with this.

"Changeling." Dad growled.

Before Dean could blink, Dad had out a lighter and some hairspray he sometimes used when acting the part of an FBI agent, and burned the creature to the ground. It wailed, and for a second Dean actually thought his father had set his baby brother to flame. His cries matched Sam's and his skin burned the way Dean had always imagined his mother's did (seeing as he never actually saw his mother on the ceiling), but either way it made him want to gag. He could practically feel the bile crawling up his throat and tickling his esophagus on the way.

Just as quickly as he had doubted his father's actions, the creature's skin turned into a wrinkled, Freddy Krueger themed webbing of stretched gray and it's body morphed into something completely other than human, it's teeth showing that of a sharks and almost immediately Dean's hand went to the back of his neck. The sonuva bitch had bitten him! Did that mean he was infected? Would he turn into one of these- these things too? Questions raced through his head, but he kept his mouth closed until it's shrieks died down before he turned to his father, only to be greeted with dark brown, blazing eyes.

"I-"

"Where's Sam." He spoke, his voice petrifyingly calmer than his eyes as they hurled a storm raging in them.

"I..." Dean started, his hands beginning to feel clammy as he placed one of them to the back of his neck, bowing his head passively, "I'm not sure, sir." He whispered, his voice merely as loud as the soft AC in the corner.

"You what?" Dad growled, his voice dropping nine octaves.

"I don't know, s-sir." He lifted his eyes slightly to see his father's screaming with anger, so he quickly continued, "H-He was real hungry a-and we ran outta' his cheerios so I brought us to t-that little shack down there," he pointed towards the window, "a-and afterwards I told him..." He trailed off, mentally preparing himself for what's about to happen, "I told him to go back to the hotel-room while I got the money to pay for the ch-check."

He waited. He waited for something, a hitched breath, a quick inhale, a sharp growl, a tsk, a shout, a curse. Something. God, Dean had never wanted to hear his father talk more. Because the silence in that room was suffocating, squeezing every bit of oxygen from his lungs and making his brain fog. He was in for it. The silence of his father was scarier than his shouting and threats and screams and curses. Dean, who knew it was suicide but had to because of the curiosity that was tugging at his head, met his father's eyes.

They were glazed, as if he was deep in thought. His fists were so clenched, his skin pulled so tight over his knuckles, that it was an unnatural color of white and a few pink splotches here and there were blood managed to get to. Dean could practically see his father's face rising with heat, the gears in his head turning, his mind clouding. Dean now really knew he was in for it.

"So-" His father cracked a grin, "So you're tellin' me, you let my Sammy walk to the hotel alone? As in by himself? Unarmed and unsupervised?"

He quickly dropped his gaze back down to his father's knees and nodded slightly, "Y-Yes, sir, but it was a m-mista-"

"A mistake that'll cost your brother his life!" He shouted, his voice roaring over every other noise in the entire room. Even that AC that blew out soft air shut off. Dean flinched, his body tensing as his face contorted with worry and fear. The boy wasn't afraid of much, but goddamn, his father seriously took a toll on him. "God dammit, Dean! I've told you to watch him with your life!" He shouted, his voice growing louder and louder as the bulge in his neck began to grow, "And now he could be so much as dead, if we're lucky, thanks to you!" His eyes flashed pure anger. Pure, white, hot anger. Rage even. "One job, Dean! One damn job! Watch Sammy! Keep him safe! And," He laughed, his guffaw showing no signs of relief and or happiness but instead a bit of craziness and disbelief, "you let him wander home alone!"

"We-We'll find hi-"

"No." He snapped, his voice cutting the air like a knife through butter, "You're not going anywhere. I'm finding my son and if you so much as go near him when I come home, you won't be able to walk again, you hear me?"

Dean, who's eyes were now growing hazy with tears, nodded slightly. His father's boots stomped over towards the corner of the room, grabbing some more hairspray and a lighter, and shot the boy another nasty glare, "So help you God, Dean, if my boy's dead..." He trailed off and didn't continue. Not that Dean needed him too. Sammy could be dead and it was his fault. On him. Dad was right. One hundred and twenty percent right. He had one job; protect Sammy, and he fucked it up.

Could time move any faster? It was all Dean could think about. Well, that and whether or not his brother was still breathing. It had been hours since Dad had his fit and left, and good God, Dean was practically drowning in guilt and shame. If the beatings he was mentally giving himself came out as physical injuries, he'd have numerous bruises, a few broken bones, busted lip, a couple shiners on his face and maybe a black eye. Every thought that entered his mind was some other type of guilt-trip he gave himself or another insult. He was a terrible brother. He was absolutely horrible. Dad'd kill him. He'd end up in a ditch somewhere and that's where he deserved to be, especially if that's where Dad finds Sammy. No, if that's the case then Dean'll put himself in the ditch, his father wouldn't even have to.

Another twenty minutes or so passed and his feet were beginning to protest his constant pacing. He hadn't even realized he had been walking for hours until his foot slammed against one of the bed's legs and he jumped back with pain. He sat on the bed, raking his hand through his hair before he saw a used can of hairspray and a small box of matches on his father's bed. It practically screamed for Dean to take them, neon lights flashing all around it with arrows and everything, basically writing it on Dean's forehead that that was his way to help Sammy.

Dad had give him the ultimatum. But screw Dad. This was Sammy we were talking about. And Sammy trumps Dad any day. Even on one of his bad days, Dean knew he'd always pick Sam. Because his goddamn job was to protect Sam with his life and last he checked, sitting in a room moping about how he screwed up wasn't contributing to the search of his brother. So, instead, Dean stood up, grabbing his hairspray and matches, and walked out the door.

He'd been walking for a bit, the dark roads being lit only by a few lampposts and a couple passing cars. The town they were in was awful small and had very minimal people, therefore the lack of lights around the place giving it a friendly vibe was seriously obvious. To Dean though, the dark was the dark. It wasn't anything to be afraid of rather than being alert in. He walked, and walked, and walked. Where would he start? He didn't know anything about the case. Hell, he didn't even know Dad was hunting changelings. What the fuck even is a changeling?

Questions clicked left in right into his head but he dismissed them quickly and continued. He walked up this small road that he remembered really led to nowhere except this abandoned farmhouse and it's shed. Along the small road that gradually turned into a dirt path stood a worn out house and it's creepy swingset at the front, but other than that the pathway wasn't anything special. Dean saw it though as a place for the whatever-the-hell to be hiding Sam so quickly picked up his speed and headed towards the farmhouse. If he was a whatchamacallit, he'd hide innocent little boys in an abandoned farmhouse too.

Quietly entering the building, he placed one foot in front of the other and cautiously proceeded forward. He hadn't thought to take a flashlight which was now seeming more like an idiotic move on his part rather than a brave one. He searched for a bit, looking at some dusty photos of an elderly couple and admiring a few pieces of artwork before he sighed. He had mapped this place in and out, upside down and there wasn't an changeling or a Sammy to be seen. Walking out rather gloomily, he made his way back down the road, head hung low in disappointment before he froze. His head turned to the abandoned house where he saw a crying Sammy at the window, pounding so hard for his older brother to see him Dean was sure he'd break the glass, but then he was quickly taken from pane by hands that wrapped around his waist.

Dean didn't think. He didn't even really know how he was moving. His body, as if on instinct, threw him forwards towards the house, full speed. Not caring that his pants were probably being stained with dirt and weeds, he bashed through the door as if it was nothing, his adrenaline pumping so hard he didn't even feel the pain. Sam's cries echoed through the house like a siren, and automatically Dean was halfway up the stairs, yelling his brother's name. He felt like one of those idiotic people in those horror movies that scream if anyone's home or for the shadow they had just seen run by a doorway as if it'd respond back or just grabbing attention to themselves in general, but he didn't care. He'd attract an entire nest of vamps to him if it meant hearing his brother's voice so he could find and save him.

He finally turned into the room where he heard Sam's screaming. The room was dark, a gruesome shade of purple chipping from the walls and an odd looking mirror hanging against it. His eyes moved from the mirror to the thing that was holding his squealing baby brother and he froze. It was a person... or a lady rather with short brown hair that curled upwards at the end, a button nose, and hard eyes. He glanced back in the mirror and quickly saw another one of those things his father burned a few hours prior. He growled, telling Sam to duck, and clicking the spray with the match he just lit.

The older- what Dean would soon find out to be Mother Changeling- creature gasped, dropping the boy and bracing herself for the impact, but nothing happened. Sam crawled to Dean, the older brother helping him up and standing right in front of the boy as he growled, shaking the can and trying again. Nothing. Absolutely-fucking-nothing. A ping of fear dropped in his gut like a pill as he quickly grabbed Sam's hand, slamming the door shut as if that'd slow her down, and running down the stairs.

Sammy was running too slow though. He couldn't keep up and the thought of the creature getting ahold of Sam again got Dean's blood boiling. He quickly picked up his brother, throwing him over his shoulder as he was still little (smaller than a lot of the eight year-olds Dean sometimes saw when picking Sammy up from school) and bolted. The thing screeched with displeasure and was soon directly on his heels, but he didn't slow. If anything, he ran faster.

Unfortunately though, Dean couldn't run forever. Finding no other option, Dean made a sharp turn and lost the monster for a brief moment. In that moment, he set a weeping Sam on the ground, crouching besides him and whispering carefully, "Hey, Sammy. I'm right here, alright? But I need you to be extra quiet for me, I'll be right back. Stay here and scream if it finds you, okay?"

Sammy's bottom lip quivered as more tears streamed from his face but he nodded. His hair stuck to his wet eyelashes like gum to a shoe as he tried to get rid of it with his sleeve. Dean nodded, quickly kissing Sam's head, and running back off, calling attention to himself as Sam heard a familiar shriek and the thumping of feet right past him. He saw a wish of brown hair with curled ends and took a wobbly breath of relief. He was out of the woods, but now it was Dean's turn.

His flannel flew behind him like a cape, his jeans torn up beyond repair and his lungs beginning to burn. He had to have been running for ages, that damn bitch still on his heels like a parasite. The bastard wouldn't let go. Luckily, she had flown right past Sammy like Dean had hoped, but unluckily, the thing had the stamina of a horse and could run for what seemed like ever. It's feet pounded against the ground like fists to meat, her pants growing heavier and heavier but then growing louder and louder as if she was getting closer. He knew he was slowing down, but there was no way in Hell he was letting this thing get the best of him.

His foot slid against the ground with a quick U-turn, him barely dodging the swinging claws of the creature as it let out another wail. He and it had crossed paths within a millisecond and just as quickly as he had lost her, she was back on his tail. He ran for another few minutes before he finally got the guts to test his theory out. All this running was getting him tired and realizing if the exhaustion got the best of him he'd end up dead, he had been formulating a plan in the back of his head for quite some time. He had noticed the shed when he first walked down the road, it looking creaky and old, but let's just hope it had what Dean needed.

He took a deep breath, running into it and shutting the door, grabbing down the latch and barricading himself inside. He swiftly began to throw things off of shelves, looking for gasoline. He needed gasoline. Thuds and crashes were heard all the way where Sam was sitting but Dean didn't care. The monster began scratching and clawing at the door, pounding against it and shaking the knob. He knew that barricade wouldn't last forever, but it was better than nothing. Finally finding the gallon he needed, he began pouring it all over the ground and on the walls, making a nice, now wet room before walking all the way to the back of the shed.

With an angry snarl, the door flung open and the furious creature stepped in, growling deeply as if it was a wolf. Dean breathed, his nerves beginning to quake. He now really had to pray those wooden planks were as weak as they seemed.

Sam sat quietly, as quietly as he could and watched his brother run helplessly into the shed, clearly looking for some type of shelter against the beast. Sam's hand found its way to the back of his neck as he traced a circular row of punctures and he whimpered. His gaze fixated once more on the shed as crashed were heard from inside and then the door swung open. The little boy, not being able to stop himself, stood up quickly and risked the changeling seeing him. Fortunately, it was too busy with his brother to notice, but unfortunately, it was too busy with his brother to notice.

The creature walked inside and his breathing stopped in his throat. Dean, his best friend and big brother, was in there. Alone. Without a weapon. With this man-eating thing and there wasn't a thing Sammy could do about it. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he resisted the urge to run down there and beat the creature with a rock until it stopped moving. His eyes watered as he thought of his brother never coming out and he took another deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. Dean'd be fine. Dean was Dean. Dean was his Batman. And Batman never di-

The shed blew up. Sam let out a scream as the flames burst with rage out the windows and doors and swallowed the structure whole. Sam's cries didn't match the screams from the fire as it tore apart the wood, it crackling so loudly he couldn't even hear the pitch coming from his throat. His eyes burned deeply with tears as he fell to his knees crying hysterically. Dean was eaten alive by the fire. He had to have been. The shed blew up! How the hell does that even happen?!

He buried his head in his knees crying harder. Oh, God. Dean was dead. He was hysterical, his hair falling in his wet face and his eyes stinging so badly he was sure he'd go blind. But he didn't care. He wanted Dean. He hadn't even realized he had been crying his brother's name until he heard a mumble and a groan, "Yes, Sammy?"

He looked up quickly, his hair gluing to his forehead and cheeks. Dean practically fell on his back as Sam leapt on him, sobbing into his chest, "De!"

The older brother made an oof sound as he fell on his back, the younger Winchester pressing his head to his brother's chest tightly as his arms encircled his brother's waist with constriction, "I-I th-thought- and t-the ex-explosion-" He breathed, his words coming out in quick breaths as he tried to regulate his breathing. He had never been so happy to see his brother before.

"Shh, Sammy, relax, buddy. I'm right here. I busted out the back before I threw the match in. I'm not leavin ya' that quickly."

Sam choked out a laugh as Dean sat up right, hugging just as tightly as he was. "I-I was so s-scared w-when it t-took me wh-when I was wal-walking home," Sam wheezed, "I-I never th-thought I'd se-see you again."

Dean let his hand cup the back of his brother's head as he held it against his shoulder, letting his own head rest against Sammy's shoulder as he breathed deeply, "I'm not going anywhere, okay? We stay together, right, Sammy?"

The little brother eagerly nodded which brought a smile to Dean's face, "Alright then. Time'ta get you home."

His shouts silenced them both, "I told you not to leave this house!"

"I found him!"

"He wouldn't have to be found if you hadn't been so careless, Dean!" Dad growled, his eyes lethally narrowing.

"I-"

"No! J-Just shut it." He snarled, his hand raking his head as he looked to Sammy for the first time since he had gotten home to find the two boys already there, "Sammy..."

He walked towards the little boy who almost instantly began to cry after his father pulled him tightly to his chest. "D-Daddy."

"It's okay, buddy, I got ya." Dad sent a glare over to Dean who looked to his feet once more in shame. He tucked his head into the boy's neck and closed his eyes, hugging his head to his chest and pressing him to himself. He just needed to make sure that this was Sammy, and not another one he had burned hours before.

He eventually stood, shooting his son one more look before turning to the bathroom, telling the boys they'd be going in twenty minutes, and slamming the door shut. Dean began sadly stuffing things into his small pouch of crap, not missing the bite-mark on his baby brother's neck and sighing lightly. Sammy glanced over at him and swallowed, "I love you, Dean."

Dean laughed hysterically, shaking his head violently, getting almost immediately reminded of the Sam wannabe before hand, "No, no you don't, Sammy. Just..." He trailed off, his laughs fading as he walked over to his brother and gave him a tight squeeze, "we shouldn't say I love you anymore. Too... chic-flick-y." He pulled away and ruffled Sam's hair, "Why don't we go give that waitress her tip?"

Sam beamed, just like he had when they went the first time. Dad takes long showers, so they had time to spare. Dean quickly grabbed some extra change and followed his brother, sure to not let him out of his sights. Because like Dad said, Dean's one and only job is to watch out for his little kid brother. And that's what Dean plans to do, right after they grab a bite and tip the waitress.


End file.
